“It’s not about relaxing. It’s about disease. There are mystery splotches of dried food here.”
“They help you build immunity.”
She pauses again, blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes. “Do you worry about anything?”
“I try not to.”
“Anthony!” Darla waves our way, and I head to the Airstream to pick up our taco tubs. It smells good. With the special, you never know what you’re getting, only that they’re going to be great. I try to guess from the mix of scents rising with the steam, but my stomach doesn’t really care, and my mouth starts to water.
“They make the best tacos.” I set the tubs down on the napkins Mai has spread out like placemats. She stares at her carton. Along with the tacos wrapped in soft corn tortillas is a container of potatoes. “Are these tater tots?”
“With cheese on them.”
“Because they weren’t unhealthy enough on their own?”
“You eat Cheetos,” I remind her.
“And I’m ashamed.”
I sit down and pull my tray closer. I breathe in the green salsa they’re famous for. “I ate veggie sticks for you. I still have nightmares about the orange ones.”
“Oh, fine.” Carefully, she reaches for a taco, trying to keep the filling from sliding out. It’s a hopeless cause, and I don’t even bother, taking a huge bite of mine. Juice leaks down my fingers and back into the tub. The meat is so moist I hum as it hits my tongue. I chew slowly so I don’t miss out on any of the flavors.
Mai’s bite is small and hesitant. I watch as she chews and love the surprised lift to her eyebrows. “What is this?”
I wipe juice off my lips. “That’s the mystery. They’re always coming up with something different.”
She tilts her head, thoughtful, and I know she’s trying to work it out. “I think it’s chicken.”
“You like it?”
“I need a larger sample size.” She takes another bite as I dig into mine. The tacos are usually spicy, but tonight’s version has a tang of something sweet.
“Marmalade?” Mai guesses.
I shrug and take another bite. The sky flares red off to the west, painting the clouds behind the trees that edge the lot. “Check out the sunset.”
She turns and gives it all of a second’s glance. “Dust particles cause the colors.”
“Thank you, Ben.”
She pauses and then sets her taco down. “That was a Ben thing to say.” She looks again and in a syrupy voice adds, “I meant to say, how utterly delightful.”
I toss a tater tot at her.
It bounces off the hand she holds up and lands on her napkin. She grabs it and pops it in her mouth with a smart-ass smile. “These are nearly as good as Cheetos.”
“What? Something nice to say about food from a truck?”
She ignores that and reaches for the second taco. She picks a chunk of meat off the top and eats it. “It’s too moist to be chicken. Pork?”
“That’s my guess.”
“I still can’t figure out what makes it sweet.”
I have the sudden urge to spout some dorky comment about Mai being sweet. Jeez. But sometimes, like now, I look at her, and she’s so beautiful that it’s like taking a punch to the sternum. I hold back the words, but I can’t stop the instinct to lean over the table and kiss the corner of her mouth, moving so quickly I shock her as much as I do myself.
“Anthony! What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I shrug as I sit back. “Trying to figure out the flavors.” My heart is thundering. “Cilantro,” I say, as if I tasted anything but Mai.
“You can’t do that.” But her voice is breathless. “We have a no kissing rule.”
“It wasn’t a real kiss. It was a peck. It’s how I kiss my grandma.”
Her eyebrows lift. “You kiss your grandma like that?”
My lips ache with the need to kiss her again. “You don’t think I’d break the rules? I’m all about the rules.”
“You are all about no rules,” she says, but her cheeks are flushed and she’s smiling as she picks up her taco. “And that was absolutely not cilantro.”
My smile comes slow and unstoppable when I see the flirty tilt to her head, the spark in her deep brown eyes.
“Honey, then.”
“There is no honey in a taco.”
“You sure? Because you tasted sweet.”
“That is so cheesy.”
“Cheese. Maybe that’s it.” I lean in, letting my fingers get within inches of hers. “Maybe if I kissed you again? I always kiss my grandma a few times.”
She snorts a laugh and then covers her mouth as if someone will hear her. She pulls her hands to her lap. I catch her looking around at the other couples. I thought, bringing her here, that she’d stick out like a splinter. But we’re really not any different from anyone else. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we belonged.
Here.
With each other.
I sigh. The hell of it is I do know better.
When she meets my eyes, I see the same regret I’m feeling. How can she be so different and know exactly what I’m thinking? What I’m feeling? I go back to my tacos because I don’t know what I want to say, but I know the best thing is to say nothing.
We’re quiet until the air slowly clears and my shoulders ease. She cleans out her tub of potatoes, sliding the plastic fork around the edges to get the last bit of cheese. “I am officially onboard with food-truck food.”
“I think what you just said was, ‘Anthony you were right and I was wrong.’”
She smirks and drops her napkin into her tub. “Never.”
“And,” I add, “you said you’re going to stop wimping out for the rest of our fling.”
“I would never call myself a wimp.”
“Wuss? Sissy?”
“I’m cautiously pragmatic.”
“I think you’re more adventurous than you let on. You don’t give yourself a chance.”
“You got all that from me liking tacos and guava juice?”
I lick a last bit of juice off the side of my hand. “You know you could do the rock hop trail. I’d take you down there myself. In thirty minutes, you’d be at the bottom wondering why you were scared in the first place.”